


Aim

by Miles_2_Go



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gun Violence, Guns, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 06, Sterek if you squint, Stiles kills someone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-29 00:09:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21145502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miles_2_Go/pseuds/Miles_2_Go
Summary: One of the most important rules they teach you in gun safety is that you never aim a gun at something you don't plan to kill. So you aim for the torso. The largest part of the body. The smaller parts of the body are harder to hit. There's a much higher chance that the bullet misses and hits something else. Hits someone else. So, even though Stiles didn't need to consciously aim, his reflexes, reflexes perfected from years of going to the gun range with his dad on weekends as a kid, hours spent at the range on his own, perfecting a skill heknewhe would need now in this insane world he'd somehow stumbled into one night in the middle of the woods as a stupid teenager with more curiosity than fuckingbrains...those reflexes did it for him.===Stiles kills a hunter.





	Aim

The hunter raised his gun, sighted on Isaac's head, and—

Stiles fired.

He didn't take the time to think about it. Just brought his own gun—his _dad's _gun—up, before the hunter had time to finish lining up the shot, and...squeezed the trigger. He didn't really even consciously aim. Didn't have time.

Not then. He'd have plenty of time later. Time to think about that moment. Agonize over it. Think about how he didn't need to even _hit _the hunter. Probably could have stopped him just by firing in his direction, startling him, stalling him long enough for Isaac to _move_. But that's never how he was taught to use a gun. One of the most important rules they teach you in gun safety is that you never aim a gun at something you don't plan to kill. So you aim for the torso. The largest part of the body. The smaller parts of the body are harder to hit. There's a much higher chance that the bullet misses and hits something else. Hits _someone _else. So, even though Stiles didn't need to _ consciously _ aim, his reflexes, reflexes perfected from years of going to the gun range with his dad on weekends as a kid, hours spent at the range on his own, perfecting a skill he _ knew _ he would need now in this insane world he'd somehow stumbled into one night in the middle of the woods as a stupid teenager with more curiosity than fucking _ brains _ ..._those _ reflexes did it for him.

And the hunter crumpled. Dead with a bullet in his chest.

Stiles didn't move. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that Isaac and Derek needed his help. Isaac was still lying on the ground, black veins creeping from his wounds, steadily making their way toward his heart. Derek was somewhere nearby, taking care of the last remaining hunter, no doubt with wounds of his own. Stiles needed to move, needed to go to the hunter, the man he'd...needed to pick up the hunter's gun, eject the magazine, take out the bullets and go to Isaac before the wolfsbane did its job.

But he couldn't move. And then something was blocking his sight, someone was standing between him and the hunter. Stiles blinked. Derek was standing in front of him. Saying something. Reaching for him. Stiles could hear words coming out of Derek's mouth, but they didn't mean anything. He didn't try to understand, didn't try to focus on whatever Derek was trying to say. He let Derek take the gun from his hand. Gave in to the pressure of Derek's hands on his shoulders, easing him to the ground.

He just sat there, useless, on the ground. He watched as Derek did exactly what Stiles should have been doing. Derek, who was _bleeding,_ grabbed the hunter's gun, took the wolfsbane bullets and went to Isaac. Helped him tend to his wounds. Then tended to his own. Like Stiles should have done. That's what he was supposed to be doing. Not just...sitting here. He should be _doing_ something, he should be…

He staggered to his feet and went to the hunter. From this distance, he could see him more clearly, take in more detail. He was around Stiles's dad's age. Short dark hair, speckled with white. Dark skin already beginning to turn an ashy gray. He was wearing a plain red shirt (Stiles staunchly ignored the dark hole in the chest, _couldn't _look at it), jeans, black boots, and a brown jacket. The jacket had a small tear in it, near the breast pocket. Stiles wondered if the tear happened in the fight or if it had already been there. Had one of the wolves clipped him with the tip of a claw? Or did he wear a torn jacket because he couldn't afford a new one? Did he just refuse to throw it away because it was his favorite? Maybe someone had bought it for him, maybe it was a Father's Day gift, or—

“..._Stiles! _”

Derek was there again, inserting himself between Stiles and the hunter. When had he done that? He said Stiles's name with impatience, like he'd said it more than once. Stiles brought his eyes to Derek's face, forced himself to focus this time.

“Derek, we need to—”

“_We _don't need to be doing anything, Stiles,” Derek interrupted. “_You _ need to go sit back down.”

“_I_need to sit down?” Stiles sputtered. He blinked, coming back to himself. “You just...Derek, you're still covered in _blood. _I need to...we need...we have to take care of the bodies, before—”

“Stiles,” Derek sighed. His voice went uncharacteristically soft. “I'll take care of the bodies. Go sit with Isaac.”

“_No_.” The panicked whirring in Stiles's brain ground to a halt. Sound and color flooded back to his senses, too bright, too loud. He hadn't even realized that the color and _life_ had been slowly draining out of the world around him. His focus sharpened. He planted his feet and looked Derek in the eyes. “_I _did this. I'm not making anyone else clean it up. I should be the one to do it.”

Derek tried to put a hand on Stiles's shoulder, but Stiles shrugged it off. Stiles opened his mouth to yell some more, but Derek held up both of his hands, palms out, placating.

“Okay. Fine. But you aren’t doing it alone. There’s more than one body to bury. But, Stiles...you’re running on adrenaline right now. When you crash, you’re _really _ going to wish you’d listened to me.”

—

Stiles’s Jeep was nearby and they loaded the bodies into the back of it. Four bodies. Two that Derek had killed, one that Isaac had killed, and one that Stiles…

They drove the bodies deeper into the Preserve. They stopped at the Hale house on the way and Derek grabbed two shovels from an old shed that was still standing in the backyard. Stiles swallowed back bile when he saw Derek coming back with the shovels.

He didn’t understand why he was reacting this way. Why this time was so much harder. He’d killed before. He’d...

But Donovan had been trying to kill him. And Donovan wasn’t entirely on purpose. The hunter...hadn’t been trying to kill Stiles. He hadn’t even been looking at Stiles. And Stiles had _meant_ t_o_ kill him. He’d aimed a gun at him and pulled the trigger. With his own hands.

Bile rose in his throat again. He forced it down. Just barely.

They reached a clearing and Derek told Stiles to stop the Jeep. Isaac stayed in the Jeep, still weak and recovering from his wounds. Stiles and Derek got out and started to dig.

The sun went down after a while. It was the beginning of Fall and the days were getting shorter. The temperature dropped steadily as they dug. Stiles started to shiver.

And then he couldn’t stop. He was shaking so hard he couldn’t keep the shovel steady. Derek stopped digging and gently took the shovel from Stiles’s hands. 

“It’s okay, Stiles. You’ve done enough. Isaac should be recovered enough by now. He can help.”

Stiles looked up at Derek, tears blurring his vision. “Derek, you...my dad can _never_ know. Derek, you can’t... he _can’t_ know. And _ Scott _—”

“Stiles,” Derek dropped the shovels and grabbed Stiles’s shaking hands. Stilling them. “No one will know. You, me, and Isaac. No one else needs to know. I promise. Come on, let’s get you to the Jeep.”

Derek climbed out of the hole and hauled Stiles out after him. Derek steadied him with a hand on his back. Stiles looked toward the Jeep. The Jeep where the bodies were. Bile rose again and this time he couldn’t stop it. He pushed away from Derek, bent, and emptied his stomach onto the forest floor. Derek rubbed soothing circles into Stiles’s back as he spat and shivered.

Isaac appeared at his elbow, his face scrunched in concern. Derek pulled him away from Stiles and they had a quick, murmured conversation while Stiles tried to compose himself.

The little bit of adrenaline that had been left drained with the vomit and he swayed when he tried to straighten back up. Derek was back in a blink, his arm around Stiles’s waist.

“Isaac is cleaning out the Jeep.” He didn’t say _ Isaac is moving the bodies. _ Stiles was grateful.

Stiles closed his eyes and let himself lean into Derek a little. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Derek snorted, softly. “Don’t be sorry.” His voice was quiet. Sad. “I’m not sure I’ve ever actually seen a normal reaction like this before. It’s good that you aren’t used to this, Stiles. I hope you don’t ever need to get used to it.”

When the Jeep was clean, Derek led Stiles back to it, tucking him into the passenger seat. Then he and Isaac buried the body of the man Stiles had killed.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first official AO3 work. I just threw it together to get myself back into the groove. It's been a while since I've written anything. Please let me know if you see any errors, this is completely unbeta'd. 
> 
> I'm planning on posting more stuff eventually. My plan is to write an entire Season 7 one day, but I need to rewatch the series and take a bunch of notes before I can even start on that. Some form of this scene may or may not make it into that work.
> 
> Please let me know what you think. I need praise for motivation. T_T


End file.
